


Fireflies

by TheAsexualofSpades



Series: Quarantine Drabbles [21]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Brotherly Love, Fluff, Found Family, Gen, RK900 is a sweetheart, RK900 is named Nines, Singing, a little bit of angst but not much, sumo is best boi, the rk series are all brothers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-14
Updated: 2020-04-14
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:27:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23651563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheAsexualofSpades/pseuds/TheAsexualofSpades
Summary: There's another android found after the revolution at the Cyberlife Tower. The RK900, a never used prototype.Connor and Hank take one good look at the RK900 and decide they're adopting him.He doesn't protest.
Relationships: Connor & Sumo (Detroit: Become Human), Connor & Upgraded Connor | RK900, Hank Anderson & Connor, Hank Anderson & Connor & Sumo, Hank Anderson & Connor & Upgraded Connor | RK900 & Sumo, Hank Anderson & Upgraded Connor | RK900, Markus/Simon (Detroit: Become Human)
Series: Quarantine Drabbles [21]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1677655
Comments: 11
Kudos: 224





	Fireflies

**Author's Note:**

> we all like to think RK900's a snarky asshole and I'm here for that. I'm not even gonna front. 
> 
> But like,,,,this boi was designed to be phased in after Connor and to be a machine. He's gonna be worse than Connor and I needed some of that. 
> 
> Basically RK900 is a soft boi who really doesn't look like a soft boi here you go

Fandom: DBH

Prompt: “But I want to hear you sing.”

* * *

It took the RK800 a substantial period of exposure in the field to human activities and deviant androids including traumatizing incidents to deviate itself.

The RK900 deviated in a matter of minutes after being discovered in a Cyberlife warehouse.

Connor, upon being notified of the find, immediately came to the scene and within moments of his activation, the RK900 overthrew the behavior protocols.

“Can you hear me?” Connor leaned forward to examine the RK900’s optical unit.

“Yes, I can hear you.”

“Good.”

Connor is shorter than the RK900. His eyes are brown. His facial structure is designed to be more sympathetic. His voice is modulated to appear nonthreatening. He is equipped with more docile responses.

The collar of RK900’s shirt has a sharp point at its apex. It prevents the RK900 from lowering its head without applying pressure to the vocal modulator. RK900 adjusts its gaze so it can look at Connor.

“Hello,” Connor says, “my name is Connor.”

“Connor Model #313-248-317-51.”

Connor’s mouth twitches into a smile. “Yes. But just ‘Connor’ is fine. Do you have a name?”

**[ ] Model Number**

**[ ] Designation**

**[X] Title**

“I am the RK900 prototype.”

Connor shakes his head. “That’s not what I meant. Do you have a _name?_ ”

**Searching…**

**Name: _noun,_ a word or set of words by which a person, animal, place, or thing is known, addressed, or referred to.**

“I am referred to as the RK900 prototype,” the RK900 repeats, “I do not have any other designation.”

  
Connor nods, but his expression has changed.

**Running analysis…**

**[ ] Creased brow**

**[ ] Frown**

**[ ] Slumping of shoulders**

**[ ] Slow nod**

**Conclusion: Disappointment.**

The RK900 blinks, red momentarily obscuring its vision. It doesn’t want to be a disappointment. It…it likes Connor. Connor has been kind, unlike the programmers and technicians.

“W-wait!”

Connor pauses, turning back when the RK900’s voice stutters out.

“Yes?”

“I…” The RK900 hesitates. “I do not have a…a name. Should I have one?”

Connor frowns again. Is he still disappointed?

No, the crease in his brow is different and as he waves away the other officers still swarming the room it goes away. He steps closer again and part of the RK900 wishes he wouldn’t. He can’t look at Connor properly when he’s this close.

“A name is something that’s _yours,_ that you have and you can decide,” Connor explains, “it helps you feel more like a person.”

“A person…” The RK900 tests the word out on its tongue. “I…I think I would like that.”

“Well, that’s good. Do you know what you want your name to be?”

“…no.”

Connor doesn’t look disappointed this time. He only smiles and lightly touches the RK900’s arm. The contact radiates through the RK900’s interface, instantly cataloging the pressure change, temperature differential, and the _ping_ of Connor’s signature over the network.

“That’s okay. We can figure it out.”

“Connor!”

“In here, Lieutenant!”

The RK900 looks at the door. Another officer comes inside. They are taller than Connor but shorter than him. They have grey hair. A beard. They do not wear a uniform.

**Running analysis…**

**Identified: Lieutenant Hank Anderson, DPD.**

“This is Lieutenant Anderson,” Connor says, “he is my partner.”

“I’m your goddamn babysitter,” Lieutenant Anderson mutters, coming across the room. The lieutenant does not seem resentful of this fact, the RK900 notes, perhaps this is a habit between the two of them as opposed to a source of conflict. “What do we got?”

“Hello,” the RK900 says, “I am…”

Connor did not like it when the RK900 used its title. A repeat offense would be unwise.

“This is the RK900,” Connor jumps in, “they uncovered it in the vaults.”

“Shit, another one?” Lieutenant Anderson glances around, eyeing the other containers suspiciously. “Are there any more of you?”

“I am the only RK900.” The lieutenant’s frown does not disappear. “I apologize for the inconvenience.”

“Huh?” Lieutenant Anderson waves a hand. “You ain’t gotta apologize. You ain’t done nothin’ wrong. The less of you there are the easier it’ll be for you.”

“‘Easier?’”

“Hank means for you to get used to your activation,” Connor explains, “because it’s just you, it’ll be simpler for you to learn things at your own pace.”

“My computing speed is—“

“Not your computing speed,” Connor interrupts without heat, “just…getting used to things.”

“I…I do not understand.”

“Eh, you’ll get there.” Lieutenant Anderson looks at Connor. “Took him ages too.”

“And most of it was thanks to you, Hank,” Connor says with a smirk, to which the Lieutenant lightly smacks his arm. “I am confident in the RK900’s abilities.”

“Thank you, Connor.”

“Jeez, what’s it with Cyberlife and numbers?” Lieutenant Anderson shakes his head. “There’s Markus with the twos, you and all the freaky versions of you with the eights, now this guy with the nines.”

“I’m not going to try and explain Cyberlife’s decision making processes.”

“Nobody understands those ‘cept for that fucker Kamski. And I ain’t goin’ back there if I can help it.”

“Perfectly reasonable, Hank.” Connor looks back at the RK900. “Would you like to come with us? It will be better once we’re out of this room.”

The RK900 is still processing. It opens its mouth.

“Nines…”

Connor and Lieutenant Anderson stop, watching the RK900’s LED spin yellow, yellow, blue.

“Nines.” The RK900 looks at Connor. “My name is Nines.”

**Running analysis…**

**[ ] Pupil dilation**

**[ ] Broad smile**

**[ ] Straightening of posture**

**[ ] Blue LED**

**Conclusion: Happiness.**

“Hello, Nines,” Connor says, “it’s nice to meet you.”

“Alright, come on,” Lieutenant Anderson claps Connor on the shoulder, “let’s get you and your brother outta here.”

**Searching…**

**Brother: _noun,_ a man or boy in relation to other sons** **and daughters of his parents.**

The RK900 walks out of the warehouse with a name and a brother.

Connor and Hank—Nines is quick to change the lieutenant’s designation in his HUD—welcome him into their home. The two brothers are both androids, so they do not require separate rooms. Once Nines is a little more used to his activation, they bring him into the DPD to see Captain Fowler. The captain takes one look at him and hires him on. The work is stimulating. The experience of Connor and Hank is useful in shaping his own analyses of crime scenes. They are proud of his work.

They take him to meet the other androids they know well. Markus, the Deviant leader, is another brother. An RK200. His partner, Simon, a PL600, is warm and inviting. North, a WR400, is the first to encourage Nines to visit more often, insisting they spend time walking around outside, learning about the world and themselves. Josh, a PJ500, is who Nines learns to turn to for debate and conversation outside of his family. He is, to borrow a term from the lecturer, a ‘sparkling conversationalist.’ They are welcoming, accepting the new member of Connor and Hank’s family and fitting him into place like a new biocomponent. It is…nice.

Something is still missing. Nines can’t figure out what it is.

Connor helps him partway one night when they are home. Nines ducks his head slightly to the left to allow Sumo to lick his cheek. The dog curls up happily on his lap, drawn to Nines’ warmth and the android’s inability to be crushed under the dog’s weight. The steady beating of Sumo’s heart and the damp warmth of his breath soothes Nines’ thirium regulator. 

“If you duck towards him that will be easier.”

Nines glances up at Connor, watching them from the couch.

“What do you mean?”

“Instead of leaning to the side,” Connor explains, joining them on the floor and leaning his forehead to bump Sumo’s, “do it like this. He likes it.”

The brothers laugh at Sumo’s delighted yelp at now having two androids to cuddle.

Nines’ smile fades. He cannot do that. He doesn’t want to disappoint his brother, but he cannot do that.

“Nines?”

“Yes?”

Connor taps the side of Nines’ head. “Your LED’s gone yellow,” he asks quietly, “what’s wrong?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Nines says quickly, “you do not need to be worried.”

“It does matter,” Connor corrects, scooting a little closer, “if it’s making you upset, it matters.”

Nines has the sudden urge to look down, look away, hide his face in Sumo’s fur. But he cannot. He cannot move his head. He _can’t._

That’s the problem.

“Nines.”

**Running analysis…**

**[ ] Higher voice**

**[ ] Softer tone**

**[ ] Hand on the arm**

**~~[ ] _Brother…_~~**

**Conclusion: Connor is getting more worried.**

**_Stress levels at 67%_**

**[ ] Reassure**

**[ ] Dismiss**

**[X] Confess**

“I…I can’t do that.”

“What can’t you do, Nines?”

Nines gestures weakly to the collar of his shirt. “My uniform is designed to be posture correcting to maintain professionalism and ensure the proper respect is given. I can’t lower my head like that.”

Connor doesn’t reply right away.

**Running analysis…**

**[ ] Furrowed brow**

**[ ] Tight mouth**

**[ ] Hand on arm clenched into a fist**

**~~[ ] _No please, I’m sorry—_~~**

**Conclusion: Connor is angry**

**_Stress levels at 78%_**

**[ ] Reassure**

**[ ] Dismiss**

**[X] Apologize**

“I’m sorry, it’s alright, I—“

“Nines, come here.”

Connor’s voice is too sharp but Nines follows, turning to face his brother, Sumo’s indignant whine at being left bereft of pats ignored. Connor’s frown doesn’t disappear as his hands work at the collar of Nines’ shirt, finding the hidden buttons beneath a flap of fabric and working open.

Nines gasps when the point under his chin disappears. His hand flies to his neck, feeling the synthetic skin, so different from the harsh fabric of the collar.

**_Stress levels at 32%_ **

He can move. He can _move._ He looks back at Sumo, tail still thumping against the floorboards, and ducks— _ducks—_ his head to bury it in Sumo’s neck. The dog _boofs_ encouragingly, leaning his own head against Nines.

“That’s better,” he hears Connor say, the low _thump_ of the collar hitting the floor.

Connor’s arms wrap around both of them, creating a safe huddle on the warm boards. Nines turns his head slightly so his mouth is by his brother’s ear.

“Thank you, Connor.”

“Of course.” A hint of concern still colors Connor’s voice. “Why didn’t you tell me it was hurting you sooner? You don’t have to wear it, Nines.”

“You wear your uniform pretty much all the time,” Nines defends, feeling the thirium rush to his face.

Connor pulls back, a similar blue in his cheeks. “Yes, well, my uniform doesn’t _hurt_ me. You can keep the rest of it, right?”

Nines nods. “Yes. That—“ he runs a hand up under his chin again— “feels better.”

“And you know what,” Connor says, “it’s changed your voice a little. You sound more comfortable too.”

“I do?”

“Yeah. It won’t register to you because of the internal processors but yeah, Nines.” Connor smiles. “You sound better.”

His brother’s heartfelt compliment forces more thirium to his face. Grateful that he can now _hide,_ Nines ducks away from Connor’s gaze.

“Aww,” comes the teasing lilt, “are you all shy now you can actually look away?”

“Shh.”

“No, I don’t think I will.” Connor’s fingers prod a sensitive spot on Nines’ side and he _yelps._ “Come on, don’t hide from me.”

“Leave me alone,” Nines mutters into Sumo’s fur, hiding his smile.

“See, now I can _hear_ you smiling in your new voice.” Connor keeps prodding his sides. “So now you can’t hide from me.”

“Stop that!”

“Stop what, Nines?”

“ _That_!”

“Let me see your smile then.”

Sumo snorts in annoyance when his pillow won’t stop squirming. The movement forces Nines’ head away from the safety of Sumo’s fur, baring his flushed cheeks and smile for Connor to see.

“Aww, there it is,” Connor smirks, reaching to pull himself closer. “Hey, I wonder if your laugh is different now that your voice is.”

Nines’ eyes widen and he pushes himself away. “No, no, no, leave me alone, Connor!”

Connor pouts. “But I want to hear you _sing!”_

Nines stops, blush receding. “…sing?”

Recognizing the shift, Connor relents, scooting closer to help his brother upright, patting Sumo as he burrows closer to the brothers. “What’s wrong?”

“I...I don’t know how to sing.”

Connor shrugs. “It’s not difficult, Nines. Especially not for us.”

“I know that androids _can_ sing. I’ve heard Markus and Simon sing. North sings too. But I…” Nines looks down. _rA9,_ he’s taking advantage of the fact he can do that now. “…I don’t think I can.”

“Well,” Connor says softly, slotting a hand underneath Nines’ chin and lifting his brother’s gaze to his, “maybe you should try again now that you’ve got your voice.”

“N-now?”

Connor laughs. “No, not now. But at some point, hmm?”

The bedroom door swings open.

“What the _fuck_ are you two still doing awake?”

“We’re androids, Hank,” the brothers call over their shoulders.

“Yeah, you are. And I ain’t. Which is why the rule is _you go into standby_ or make with the hush-hush so I can sleep.”

“Sorry, Hank.”

“Sorry my ass,” the lieutenant grumbles as he goes back to bed.

The brothers playfully shush each other as they make a comfortable pile on the floor, Sumo flopped on top of them, snuffling happily. Nines readies himself to go into standby when Connor taps his shoulder.

“Find a song you like,” Connor asks softly, “and sing it for me at some point. I want to hear you.”

“Okay.”

Nines spends his off-hours and moments of calm in the precinct looking for songs. He doesn’t mind the music that Hank listens to, but he’s not about to strain his vocal processor trying to do it. North encourages him to strive for something powerful, but he doesn’t want that. The collar made him look powerful at the expense of his freedom. He’s not going to use the freedom to try and get some of that power back. That’s not the power he wants.

One day he’s over at Markus’ house while Connor, Markus, and Simon are discussing some new legislation and he accidentally wanders into the studio. Mr. Manfred looks down from his wheelchair above the giant canvas.

“My apologies,” Nines says, “I did not mean to disturb you.”

“No apology necessary,” Mr. Manfred waves a paintbrush and smiles down at him. “I could use the company.”

He lowers himself to the floor, looking at his painting. Nines comes to look with him.

“What do you think?”

Nines shakes his head. “I am not a painter.”

“That’s not what I asked,” Mr. Manfred says, gesturing at the painting. “I asked you what you thought.”

“I…do not know what I think.”

“That’s not true.”

Nines opens his mouth to ask what he means. Mr. Manfred gestures to his LED.

“You’re yellow, son. You’re thinking of something.”

Nines looks back at the painting. The colors are twisted together and woven in a way that makes Nines feel…something.

“…how do you decide what to paint?”

Mr. Manfred smiles. “Good question. It’s based on what I feel. What I want to feel. And how I can tell others what I feel.” He looks up at Nines knowingly. “You may not be a painter, but you’re trying to find something, aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

Mr. Manfred pats his arm affectionately. “You keep feeling then, while you look. You’ll find something.”

He looks. Nines still takes walks with North when he can. He takes the time to feel the wind against his face, looking all around now that he can. The city looks different at night. The trees are softer, the sky a blanket on top of the sidewalks. North’s presence is comforting on his other side, reaching her hands to trail lightly over the bushes.

They round the corner to the park and Nines stops.

There are little lights blinking up and around the air. He squints, optical unit adjusting to the darkness. Edging closer, he lifts his hand towards one of the lights. It’s a little creature, landing lightly on his hand. Its legs trail softly over his fingers, exploring this new terrain. He turns his hand to keep it upright as it wanders.

**Running analysis...**

**Identification: _Photinus pyralis_ , Common Eastern Firefly.**

Nines smiles as he watches the rear of the insect pulse with light. After a few seconds, it takes off, rejoining the pleasant glow of the others. He loses track of the individual in the crowd, several dozen lights blinking in the park.

“You look happy,” North says, coming up to join him.

“I am happy.”

“Good.” She punches his shoulder. “Can’t remember the last time you smiled like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you found a home.”

Home. That’s what this is. Safe, secure, pleasant. Warm. The fireflies move leisurely throughout the space. Such little creatures.

He knows what he wants to sing about. He hopes Connor will be like it.

He brings Connor the next night, North waving them off with a smile. Connor looks equally spellbound at the sight, wandering to the middle of the park. Nines hold up his hand again, waiting for a firefly to perch on his fingers. Within a few seconds, one lands. He smiles.

_“You would not believe your eyes_

_If ten million fireflies_

_Lit up the world as I fell asleep.”_

Connor freezes in the middle of turning in a circle. He looks back towards Nines, LED flashing yellow. Nines swallows and continues.

_“’Cause they'd fill the open air_

_And leave teardrops everywhere_

_You'd think me rude_

_But I would just stand and stare.”_

He smiles at the little firefly still crawling around on his hand, trying to match the tempo of the song to the beat of the firefly’s light.

_“I’d like to make myself believe_

_That planet Earth turns slowly_

_It's hard to say that I'd rather stay awake when I'm asleep_

_'Cause everything is never as it seems.”_

He has no protocol for this. He was not designed to sing. But the melody rolls off his vocal processor as the words take shape in his mouth. The sound spins through the air, weaving with the dance of the fireflies. He feels at home.

He keeps singing. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Connor coming closer, a warm smile on his face. Before the last part of the song, he takes a deep breath, turning to face his brother.

_“I’d like to make myself believe_

_That planet Earth turns slowly_

_It's hard to say that I'd rather stay awake when I'm asleep_

_Because my dreams are bursting at the seams.”_

He sings the last word almost in a whisper. Connor’s beaming so hard it looks like his face is about to split in two.

The firefly flies off as Connor pulls him into a tight, warm hug. The park, bathed in its warm glow from the fireflies, breathes with them, the song still hanging in the air.

Nines buries his head in Connor’s neck and holds his brother tight.

He’s home.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Come yell at me on tumblr while we're all in quarantine. 
> 
> https://a-small-batch-of-dragons.tumblr.com/


End file.
